


The Court's Cases

by PurpleMango



Series: A King of Sinners and a Queen of Saints [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All My Babies Have Tragic Pasts Because Kids Are Not Born Cruel, Background Relationships, Character Study, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Chocolate, Dreams and Nightmares, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Fluff, First Meetings, Friendship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Morally Ambiguous Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outtakes, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21802975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMango/pseuds/PurpleMango
Summary: How one girl with eyes like moss and hair like ink stepped out of the pages of a storybook to save a lost boy's soul.How that same girl with emerald eyes and hair like the night sky held her head up high while she bled to save a life.And how that girl, the one with the haunted eyes and the crooked smile, did this over and over and over again with every single person who asked her to.OrHow a group of children met the first monster they'd actually wanted to follow into the dark. So they did.
Series: A King of Sinners and a Queen of Saints [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571122
Comments: 30
Kudos: 402





	1. when does a story come to life if you cannot imagine past the walls that trap you? when it is a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dears!  
> Yes, it is me and not some random robotic messaging system that is posting this on a time delay because Mango is rotting under her blankets!  
> I hope you enjoy this!  
> {P.S. this goes with Chapter 2 of Farland Files ;)}

**Blaise Zabini**

Young.

He was young.

Blaise knew this, as it was one of the most common things people liked to remind him about. 'Oh dear, you're too young to understand,' they would say with close-mouthed smiles.

Fake.

Fake smiles. Fake platitudes. Fake people.

Everything in his life was fake.

His mother was the only exception to that. She told him nothing but the truth. How his father had died (by her hand), what she did for money (fashion design... and kill her many husbands), and why people liked him (his money).

Blaise learned as much as he could from his mother and then rejected every one of her teachings on how to get ahead in life.

He had no friends amongst the Italian purebloods that his mother would shove him at when she wanted to go out and drink wine with her 'friends'.

No, he was alone.

Except... there was one who kept him company. 

The girl in the book.

Blaise only had one book that was not from the library, where there were only dusty tomes that weighed more than him and gross moth-infested scrolls. His book was clean, with a cover that shimmered like it was made of silver, and it detailed the life of a princess.

'Snow White' the book was named and Blaise never let his mother even be in the same room as it, for fear of losing it. (Not that Safrina Zabini liked to venture across the manor to where his rooms were, no that was too much work and she could just call him via house-elf.) And though the book was repetitive and fairly simple, it gave him hope.

A beautiful girl, emboldened to run away and start an adventure, saved by a handsome prince who she then loved forever?

Well, his mother sometimes called him 'her little prince'... so maybe one day a beautiful and smart and kind princess would love him forever, unlike his father, that had tried to kill his mother when she was pregnant with him, hence the man's death.

His mother had always been a fast dueler.

He swore to himself he would not follow the path of bitter vengeance on the opposite sex his mother danced down, nor the insanity his father had supposedly drunkenly stumbled down. He would be better than them. Worthy of the title of 'Lord Zabini'.

And yet it was hard not to withdraw from the world more and more with every year that passed, every lonely birthday with his house-elf passed by with no friends.

With each year, the princess in the storybook got a little less realistic.

By the time Blaise had grown to be eleven, his letter to Hogwarts (and a few other schools) having shown up, his mother had gone through five husbands. 

So when he chose the British school because it was the furthest away from what his mother wanted (and from her in general), he felt no shame in disappointing her. Not when he'd had to memorize a whole string of violin and piano pieces for every new wedding his mother had made him be the ring bearer and entertainment for. Not when his fingers had bled for something that he hated.

However, when he actually walked through the international floo, then was led through the cramped streets of England's magical market... he wondered if in his spite he'd made a mistake. 

His mother, he knew, was looking for this weakness though, so he kept his head up and his stride measured.

First were robes.

The door rang softly when opened, the bell above it jingling merrily and he decided he hated this shop already. Well, until he was told to move to the platform for measurements and he saw her.

Looking over in apathetic curiosity to see if the person next to him was as uncomfortable with the invasive tape measure as he was, he stilled when his eyes fell upon the long black hair spilling down the back of a slender frame like rippling shadows. With skin like the honey that the cook always got fresh and eyes like the emeralds in his mother's favorite necklace, the girl was...

Imaginary.

She had to be- some delusion of boredom that had come to him, playing on those dreams of a princess from the book he'd found.

But her eyes said differently. Not that she wasn't a princess- oh she definitely was- but that she wasn't real. Because even if she was standing completely still as if blinking would show her to be just an illusion, but her gleaming green eyes were darting around as if studying everyone in the room for possible flaws.

He felt so inadequate...that he didn't even notice her plain and worn clothes. (He would remember later and frown for a while before brushing it off as her guardians being improper and not knowing how to deal with a lady.) 

"How do you stand so still?" The words slipped out before he could stop them and before he could pretend that he never said anything, those piercing eyes stilled and then slid right to him.

Blaise had never felt more captivated, held in place, by a single stare.

"How do you fidget so much?" The girl's voice was soft, bearly a mutter, voice smooth but so very cold.

Falling back on his nonchalant act that he'd picked up from his mother like it was as easy as breathing, he grinned. "I'm impatient and I hate shopping."

The girl's eyes slid away from him as if she'd seen such a thing a million times. 

As if she was painfully bored with him.

As if she could see right through his act.

Her voice was flat. Uninterested like no one else had ever been to him. "I guess that means I’m more patient than you." 

Unnerved, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the strange princess. 

_Had she seen through him? No one saw through him! They all just bowed at his feet, ready to be shoved to the side like all the other boring people around him!_

When both their tape measures were done, he immediately shoved his hand out. "Blaise Zabini, House of Zabini."

The girl looked him over, slowly and critically, as if she knew exactly how he'd broken composure and was wondering just how to smear his name to all her friends.

Then, to his surprise, her small warm hand curled around his. "Lena Farland. Demon of St. Judes."

_Lena. Her name was- Wait. What? Demon?_

Instinctively his eyebrows furrowed, not understanding the girl's obvious joke, as she smiled at him as if he'd failed at figuring out her puzzle and thus made a fool of himself. Then she turned and walked to the counter, finalizing her purchase herself.

But before he could go after her, try to understand what her parting statement had meant, try to understand- his mother curled a clawed hand over his shoulder. "Make a new friend, dear?"

"Yes." He knew better to be this uncomposed around his mother, collecting himself and strolling with her to the fabrics, unable to stop himself from glancing at the girl at the counter. "Lena Farland. She looks to be a lady."

His mother's laugh was short and cruel- sort of like the smile the girl had given him- and he knew he was in for another 'life lesson', her hand tightening on his shoulder. "The Farlands are an old family of soldiers and though they are _notable_ to some families, to us they are nothing but _cannon-fodder_. Come now. We have to get you an owl."

Even as he let his mother lead him away, the words _'cannon- fodder'_ rung out in his head, mocking him.

Shopping was bland.

His mother had let him chose Hogwarts, but that was only because for all extents and purposes she still controlled every part of his life otherwise. She chose his clothes, books, trunk, owl- Merlin she even chose his _parchment_.

So when Lord Nott, an old man with shifty dark eyes and greying hair that apparently knew his mother somehow joined them and the two of them started to talk, he basically zoned everything out. Plus, the old man gave him a cold and dark vibe he wasn't sure he liked and had no plans to make good with him anytime soon.

When his mother was done with shopping for him, they dragged him to some old wand shop that Lord Nott insisted was the best in Britain.

Again he was basically shoved through a door, but this time not only did he not notice the bell, but he was so focused on where a white-haired man was looking at the girl from the shop- Lena- with critical eyes that he didn't notice there was another boy his age near him.

Lena was holding a short ashen white wand, still and staring right back at the old man as if waiting for something.

"Yew with one of the only cores of magical ice that I’ve ever successfully made. Ten inches, more than a bit stiff… Made especially for someone who will do whatever they want and could care less about the consequences."

Magical ice, Blaise knew was a rare wonder- said to be unmeltable and very hard to get one's hands on.

He wondered what it was doing in the hands of this girl for only a second, before admitting to himself that if anyone's hands, hers was probably the most likely.

"Are those words from you or Jack?" Lena's tone was measured, seeming actually curious for the barest of seconds before a crooked and slightly broken smile flickered across her lips for the barest of moments, shaking her head slightly as if to clear it of something ridiculous. "Nevermind. I don't care either way. How much do I owe you?"

“All I want is a promise you’ll never point that wand in my direction.” 

The old man sounded serious and by the way he noticed his mother's eyes widen out of the corner of his eyes, he wondered if she was mentally rethinking her earlier comment about the girl.

Nodding, as the girl was acknowledging she was such a threat the man was right to be afraid, the girl gave a soft chuckle under her breath. “Very well. Say hello to the old man, as I’m sure you’ll see him before I do.”

Blaise blinked. _Was her father... dead?_

The girl turned on her heel, once again leveling that piercing gaze on him for a long moment before seeming to look at the others with the same critical eyes. “Excuse me.” 

"Lena." The old white-haired man's face was curled into a frown. 

The girl stopped but didn't look back, as if she didn't actually care but did it for the sake of some semblance of social niceties.

"Jack loved you like a father."

The message was soft and heartfelt, but all the girl did was scoff softly and then walk out.

He wondered how many times she would walk away from him before he was able to be in her presence or actually talk to her without feeling like an idiot.

_Probably more than a few._

His mother leaned down, voice a quiet whisper next to his ear and he ignored the other boy his age finding his wand in order to listen to her. "I will only say this once. I only knew two other people with that girl's magical power and a yew wand. One whose name I refuse to say while in the same shop as Lord Nott, less risk my head, and the other? Gellert Grindelwald." For the first time in what he felt like was forever, his mother's voice wavered slightly, even if it was just for a breath. "Be watchful of that girl, a Farland or not."

Nodding, he neglected to tell his mother that he'd planned to do that with or without her instruction.

She was, after all, his princess.

It didn't matter if her eyes were the color of death or her lithe fingers would probably rather dig into his ribcage so she could pull out his heart- she was a princess.

Of what... he had yet to see.


	2. I don't know what to do... I always figured I'd be the one to die alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song 'Me and My Friends Are Lonely' by Matt Maeson
> 
> WARNING: mentions of child abuse and Nott Sr. being an overall dickwad
> 
> Just- please- if you don't want to feel like you got your heart ripped out... maybe read this some other time?  
> ((this goes in tandem with Blaise's POV and Chapter 2 of The Farland Files))

**Theodore Nott**

"No! No, you're doing it all wrong, you idiot boy!"

Theodore was knocked to the ground again, skin stinging.

There were tears in his eyes but he tried his very best- oh he tried so hard- just to keep them from falling. Unfortunately, it seemed that yet again luck was not on his side, as a warm trail was made from a single traitorous tear rolling down his cheek and landing on the hard floor of the dueling room. He could almost hear the tiny 'splat' it made as if it was amplified in the space, but he didn't dare move to try to hide the tear track on his cheek or the small drop of salty liquid on the floor.

There was no use. His grandfather would find a reason to punish him for his failure one way or another.

"What kind of Nott are you- weak and sniveling like some muggle brat! If the Dark Lord heard about this you would be punished much worse then this!" The man raised his wand.

_But the Dark Lord wasn't here. He never would be here except in name for his Grandfather to punish him._

_Like it was his fault that his father had been arrested._

_Like it was his fault that he hadn't been okay with being murdered quietly like his mother and got his father thrown in Azkaban._

" _Crucio!_ "

Theodore Nott.

 _"What a good boy... for such a bad family."_ They whispered behind his back.

_"It's such a shame, he would be so handsome a suitor for my daughter.... if he wasn't a Nott."_

That was something he heard often, often accompanied with: _'Did you hear? I hear that his father was a Death Eater. And the mother... Such a poor boy."_

Except that pity only went as far as they could say it. Only the other kids of the 'dark families' ever took the initiative to include him.

Or, well, only Daphne and Draco did.

Pansy Parkinson hated him because he 'took Draco from her' (so he wasn't too upset when Miss Malfoy's refusing their marriage contract to Draco had the girl and her family fleeing to France in shame) and both Crabbe and Goyle didn't talk much. He wondered absently if their fathers had used the Cruciatus curse too long on them, damaging their voices. He wouldn't be all that surprised, but at the same time, he hated that he wasn't more upset about that.

Draco really only wanted someone that would listen to him rant about things he picked up from his father though.

But Daphne was nice. She was like him, they both could see it in each other's eyes from the moment they'd met (even though he doubted her parents were as liberal with the torture curse, as she was meant to marry well and have children and the curse could have significant detriments to that), so they stuck together even if they weren't really all that close and by the time they were old enough to get their Hogwarts letters they could communicate without even speaking.

Theo fell into books as his way out.

And if he found that Muggles had much better novels and snuck out of the Malfoy Mannor to sit in a library down the road, absorbing as many books as he could before he had to return, then he would never tell a soul.

Not even Daphne.

Weeks before he'd gotten his actual acceptance letter to Hogwarts, he and his grandfather had gone to get all his supplies, and with every day that past, his grandfather got more and more cruel about taunting him with the possibility that he wouldn't be accepted.

That he wasn't worth the effort.

But he knew not to cry. He hadn't cried in years now, he wasn't sure if he even could anymore.

So when the letter came, his grandfather smiled that vicious and cruel way Theodore was so used to coming before a curse, the man announcing they were to go get him a wand. Not because of a celebration. Because he was going to be taking his training to the _'next level'._

Theodore felt fear, not grief.

Never grief anymore.

Diagon Alley was busier than usual, with more kids running around trying to get their supplies and robes together, but a path cleared for his grandfather and he just followed like a shadow.

Silent. Unseen. Unheard.

Theodore had seen Olivanders before, but he'd never been inside the dimly lit shop with shelves of boxes across the wall, the dust making his nose itch, but he held in a sneeze.

Currently, the strange wand-maker with the crazy hair was not in sight, the only other person in the shop a small girl that looked to be a few years younger than him in a plain grey dress. He knew without looking that his grandfather would dismiss the girl as not worth even the barest greeting, so he followed in staying silent, even if he continued to study the small girl. 

Sharp green eyes like a blade of emerald slid to him, bare of any emotion, like a pit of venom that would suck the life out of you if you looked too long. But the girl didn't say anything in greeting either, silent and abnormally still, like some sort of doll.

“Theodore Nott. Lord Nott. It’s been a while.” With no sound to alert them to his presence, Mr. Ollivander seemed to melt out of the shadows themselves, carrying more than a few of the slim wand boxes. “If you could give me a second, it seems I have a bit of a tricky customer.”

He had flinched just slightly at the man's unexpected presence, but his grandfather was (expectedly) not surprised. Though the girl with the poisonous eyes didn't seem to be at all startled either.

Theodore wondered if it was because she actually was some type of vampire, some undead doll walking around without a heart, but then that may just be his over-active imagination.

“If it’s _that_ complicated then I will come back.” His grandfather's tone was sharp and icily cool, surely glaring at the girl, but unlike him who normally looked away from the man's cruel eyes, the girl just stared at his grandfather as if completely unaffected. This just seemed to piss off the man more, snapping out, “Theodore. Stay here.” before stalking out of the shop.

He relaxed just the barest amount, letting himself un-tense his shoulders now that his grandfather was out of sight.

The girl gave a soft snort, as if wholly unimpressed by his grandfather, just turning back to the old wandmaker as if asking to get back on with finding her wand.

Theodore wondered if the girl was all mentally there or if she was just unaware of who his family was, watching curiously as with every wand the girl picked up, she caused destruction to something else around her. Cacking the shelves, shattering one of the front windows, splitting a floorboard- he wondered if she was really that powerful or just a complete mess.

Jaw clenched tighter with ever wand she was given, unlike how Ollivander just got more and more excited, the girl dug out a necklace and clutched it tightly in hands that were almost turning white. However, this made Ollivander still and the girl got an expression of curiosity, tilting her head. “Let me guess… you knew Jack too?” 

'Knew.'

Past-tense.

Theodore wondered if her father had died. If that was why she was here alone in such horrible clothes.

Olivander nodded ever so slightly. “Jackson Farland- Blackthorn wood with a Ukranian Ironbelly heartstring, fitting of his later job taming dragons to fight in the war… You are the girl he often talked of? From the orphanage?”

Ah. She was an orphan then, with any possibility of blood purity- in which his father usually said to 'assume they're a mudblood'.

The girl didn't look offended, though he'd be surprised if she knew how to display that on her face. He definitely didn't.

“Depends. What did the old man have to say about me?” 

There was no emotion in her voice, just flat apathy.

Ollivander looked as if he was both surprised and yet _so very not_. “He used to say you were a brilliant and beautiful child with a heart of stone and a cruel streak a mile wide. That you loved chess because you won every time, even if you had to sacrifice every piece to do so.”

Theodore stilled.

_Why did that sound like every single one of his Grandfather's awe-struck rants about how the Dark Lord had been when they had been in school together?_

The girl didn't even bat an eye. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“What-...” The wand-maker looked at the girl with hesitant, almost remorseful, eyes. “What did you do with his bracelet?”

In a practiced move, the girl raised a perfect eyebrow (Daphne would be impressed, he thought idly). “He told you about that, did he? My first birthday gift...” Then a cruel smile seemed to cut across her doll-like face, seeming impossibly out of place in the midst of the delicate features, as if she had suddenly taken another person's smile and pasted it on her own lips. “I pawned it, just like I told him I would.”

_Pawned it?_

_Did she sell her first birthday gift?_

_Who was this girl?_

Humming, seeming as unnerved by the girl as he was, Ollivander disappeared for a moment before emerging with a single box.

Theodore watched the girl take a short wand from the man- _bone white, just like his grandfather's descriptions of the Dark Lord's wand-_ and flicked it. A soft green light consumed the shop, fixing all the destruction the girl had made before in one sweep. And there was only the barest upturn to the girl's lips as if the feat of abnormal magic was amusing to her.

The bell rung, his body tensing once more as his mask fell back into place, even as he dared not miss the description of the girl's wand. His grandfather's presence came to hover beside him, but he focused on the words.

“Yew with one of the only cores of magical ice that I’ve ever successfully made. Ten inches, more than a bit stiff… Made especially for someone who will do whatever they want and could care less about the consequences.”

And without even the barest implication the girl understood what she had the possibility of doing to their world, she accepted the man's plea of freedom from the end of her wand and then waltzed out of the store like she hadn't just shaken him to the core. By the faces around him, all of them (including the two people his grandfather had come in with) were left a bit unsteady by what happened, though his grandfather seemed to hate the girl more than showering her with the awe Theodore had expected.

And absently, he was pushed forward, ending up with a thirteen-inch wand made of Mahogany wood with a Unicorn hair core.

Ollivander looked at him with knowing blue eyes, a small smile on his lips. "An excellent wand made for a loyal friend and someone who personifies strength and safety. I believe whoever you chose to follow will be all the much better for your friendship and guidance."

However, his grandfather hadn't thought his wand was as great as Ollivander obviously did.

And when he shook slightly next time he saw Daphne, she just reached over and took his hand in hers lightly with as apologetic a smile as she could manage.

He wondered silently- _unseen, unheard-_ if that strange girl from the shop stood so still because she knew, like him, that running away only made it worse.

Probably not, but he would watch her anyway.

And if she became the next Dark Lord, driving the ones around her to such madness that left people husks of the people they could have been...

He'd kill her.

For all the children of the ex-Death Eaters that didn't know what love felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theo... my smol child... ;v;


	3. filling the hole in your chest with the parts of other peoples personalities, as one does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mentions of neglect and Lucius Malfoy being an absolute easy bake oven of a father  
> ((this ties into Chapter 3 of The Farland Files)

**Draco Malfoy**

There is a child crying, but his mother is asleep out of pure exhaustion of taking care of the boy and his father does not think it is his job to be present.

So the child cries until it goes hoarse, the house-elves ordered not to attend the boy 'if it was being loud and annoying' as the Lord of the house put it.

And finally, bathed in tears, the baby boy exhausts itself into a fitful slumber.

When Draco was nine he met a girl down the street with pretty brown hair that smiled at him more than anyone else and that would tell the most amazing stories as they climbed around rocks, giggling over the worms they found over rocks. 

He'd wandered past the gate and down the path, running from the emptiness of the Manor and the way no one paid attention to him, but the girl's smile was sunny and made him feel a bit better.

She was the first friend he'd made who wanted to be around him, as the other pureblood kids he was shoved together with weren't all that nice to each other, just pretending to like each other.

Then his father found him, sneering at the disheveled state of his muddy clothes. But the man's gaze turned to one of icy rage when he saw the girl, spitting out what sounded like a curse at the girl before dragging him away.

That was the day that Draco was taught never to disobey his father, that he was to be a Malfoy and that Malfoys never associated with those less than him.

Draco had thought it had been enough to make him suffer, to punish him, but then he heard of the muggle girl's disappearance and he found out just how dangerous it was to see the real him.

So he forged a mask out of everything his father wanted, donned it so he never got anyone else hurt again.

And over time he forgot where the line was that he ended and the mask started.

Narcissa, his mother, put a gentle hand on his shoulder for just a second as if that moment of touch was supposed to comfort him. And though he knew she loved him more than his father allowed her to show him, he sometimes wished she would be a little less afraid of disobeying father.

“It’s time to leave.” 

His mother’s touch faded and he looked at his father with a mask of proper elegance, nodding. “Can you shrink my trunk?”

Lucius Malfoy’s lips curled into a slight sneer. “Have you not learned that from the books you were given to read in advance? That does not instill me with confidence that you can get high marks, Draco.”

_ What if he wanted something to be done for him as normal parents did? _

Withholding the urge to duck his head, he nodded again, feeling like a puppet controlled by chains of iron rather than fabric strings. Drawing his wand, he performed a shrinking spell, not looking at his father as he then tucked the trunk in his pocket.

“Draco. You first.”

Again there was that stiff nod- he didn’t know how to do anything other than obey blindly to orders- before he stepped through the floo into King’s Cross Station.

Smiling thinly and moving over to stand by where Theodore Nott was standing with his grandfather, his eyes caught on another boy and a woman in finery standing with them. Holding his hand out to the boy, he gave another of those thin aloof smiles. “Draco Malfoy, Heir to the House of Malfoy.”

Taking his hand in a warmer one, fingers calloused, the boy’s dark eyes held a distinct lack of emotion. “Blaise Zabini, Heir to the House of Zabini. Please, call me Blaise.”

“Draco then.”

Blaise nodded and his mother politely excused them as they went out to the muggle area of the train station for something to eat.

This was all fairly simple, routine introductions between those with pureblood upbringings- what was not routine, however, was in the middle of mingling with the three families a voice spoke up quietly from the other side of the station.

“Matron already hates me…” 

His eyes raised to see a figure of a small girl sitting on a bench nearby, her eyes fixed on where a rat was sniffing around a pillar, her words seeming more absentminded as if she’d said them without thinking. Then pulling out a thin bone-white wand, the girl narrowed her eyes and spoke concisely. 

“ _ Commutationem _ .”

Draco found himself blinking in surprise when the rat was suddenly replaced with a fluffy pillow, his mouth moving instinctively in his awe at what had to be perfect transfiguration magic. “Look at that!” 

It was barely breathed out, a murmur of wonder, but instantly the girl’s head snapped up to stare at them before blinking slowly. After a moment of the acid green eyes staring at them like she was weighing their worth in her mind, she then tucked away the small leather journal that had been in her hand and then leaned forward to pick up the pillow from the ground.

He barely spared a thought that the object had been a rat previously  _ and that was highly unsanitary _ before his father was striding forward, making him wonder if this was going to be like the muggle girl when he was nine.

Cane tapping on the floor, Lucius Malfoy moved to loom over the girl’s small frame and he felt his mother return a hand on his shoulder.

_ Good to know she was just as worried about this going bad. _

“A book on the History of Hogwarts… third edition.” His father’s voice sounded more curious than disdainful, meaning that there was some hope for the girl yet. “I am assuming you do not know, but editions one through eight are illegal to possess. So where did you get that?”

If she stayed polite and- 

“Where did you bleach your hair? Because whoever did  _ that  _ should be  _ illegal _ .”

There was that well-hidden glint of hate and disgust in his father’s eyes.

“You would be rude to a stranger wishing to make sure you don’t get arrested? I am only trying to  _ help _ .”

Slowly, almost mechanically, the girl looked up st his father and he held back a shiver. There was no remorse in those poisonous eyes- in fact, there was no emotion at all, which made her extremely dangerous for the fact she wasn’t predictable. Her voice was cutting and cold when she spoke up even if she never raised her voice once. “Your advice has been taken under consideration, but not accepted, so I don’t owe you anything, Mr. Blond. As for my book, your words are not convincing me that this society is any better than the muggle one, as the only people that ban books are the ones trying to hide horrendous acts of history or trying to oppress their people.”

His father didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, which in itself was impressive to Draco as he knew his father was prided for being able to cut down the best of his opponents.

Instead, they just stared at each other.

Draco glanced at his mother, who was watching and studying the girl with something in her eyes like curiosity before a sharp train whistle had him (and Theo) both flinching slightly.

However the strange girl didn’t even blink, just standing smoothly and tucking the book and the pillow (she was taking that with her?) into a nicer looking trunk, shrinking it without even a word.

He saw his father’s eyes widen just slightly, as wandless casting was highly unusual at their age- not to mention how she looked younger than even him and he was a first year.

“Who are you?”

That was telling.

If his father didn’t know the girl she must not be a pureblood, not to mention she didn’t have any adults around her, which meant he wasn’t allowed to befriend her no matter how interesting she might be.

Had she given a name, he would have almost been worried about her safety in the future, but she only narrowed her eyes as if she knew that his father was dangerous to her, and glanced over to where the Zabinis were headed their way along with a few other families. “I’m no one, Mr. Blond. Just a girl along for the ride because an old man left me with a dying wish.” 

Offering nothing but a riddle and a smile as sharp as shattered glass, the girl slipped past his father silently, graceful in moving to disappear into the train.

There was no kindness when Lucius Malfoy pulled him aside with a bruising grip, eyes like ice. “Listen to me well, Draco. That girl? She is not to be accepted around you or anyone of your caliber. I don’t care who she befriends or what she says- you will not go anywhere near her. Do you understand?”

“I understand, father.”

_ A lie. _

“I won’t let some unnamed mudblood sully the name of the House of Malfoy.”

_ Once again, he built another layer to the masks he wore, wondering if he’d ever be able to take them off. _

_ Wondering if anyone would ever help him find his way out of the lies he kept telling to both himself and the world around him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to deal with Quarantine: ignore any schoolwork, write angst, drink hot chocolate, then proceed to write more angst  
> (am I doing this right?)


	4. perhaps the flowers of pain growing out of my chest will show my regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote more angst (are you really surprised)  
> WARNINGS- mentions of physical abuse, minor character death... smol boi Severus having multiple bad days

**Severus Snape**

Tobias Snape and Eileen Snape nee. Prince were not a happy couple and Severus had understood that for a long time. The same way he understood when he got old enough that the splotchy discolored marks on his mother's body came from his father’s hands.

He was ten when he understood enough not to feel fear, instead standing up for his mother with an anger that burned red-hot in his stomach.

The same anger he kept and that was fed to grow a little bit stronger every single time he took another drunken punch for his mother because she was the first good thing in his life. And sometimes when he was tender with pain and there was nothing to do but lay on the floor hoping his mother was safe even if he couldn’t stand back up, he wondered if she would be the last good thing in his life too.

School brought him Lily- who was like a sweet summer breeze that kept him from forgetting how to feel alive- and then a different school, a single word, took her away from him again.

“SLYTHERIN!”

For the first year, he hated that word. 

He hated the house and its people, he hated the way he was sneered at, but most of all he hated the scared feeling that twisted his stomach when he’d lay back in his assigned bed and pray- wish- hope that his mother was alright.

She was the last good thing he had.

But as the years turned on, spending all his time in the library making sure he understood everything of this new world so when he graduated he could get a good job and take his mother away from the man he didn’t think of as a father anymore- slowly he made a few friends too.

Regulus Black was his best friend as he was so unlike the loud Gryffindor brother of his, the quiet boy sharing with him a quiet understanding that they knew what it was like to want nothing more than to run away from their parents.

In the quiet of their dorm, they would curl together like cats seeking out each other's warmth and promise each other that they would never- _never_ become their parents.

Narcissa Black then, in the spirit that he was like her cousin’s brother in all but blood, took them in. She was so much like Lily that he couldn’t help but get attached, and in turn, she was known throughout the house for having them under her protection.

No one wanted to cross the Black sisters.

Bellatrix and Andromeda both were fond of him and Regulus, but Lucius Malfoy, who was planning to marry Narcissa… he only really put up with them in small doses until Severus started to help him with his Potions homework.

Slowly, he’d built himself a family.

It was broken and not much better than what he had at home, but it was his.

It was a rainy day when he stepped off the Hogwarts Express after his fourth year.

Severus would never forget that day- the feeling of the brisk chill in the air, the confusion as he looked around for his mother on the platform, and the numb coldness that had killed the last bit of hope in his heart when an Auror told him he was a ward of the Ministry.

His father- that pitiful excuse for a man- had killed his mother.

Over a _plate of food._

He remembered the way that Regulus had to hold him back from cursing someone, the way that Narcissa pulled him into her arms and held him close until he stopped angry-crying.

The world seemed to blur around him from then on.

He had his family and this one he would not let go of so easily.

Lucius’s father- Abraxas Malfoy- took him in as a ward of the House of Malfoy having heard about his talent in Potions and it was then he met his Lord.

He was crying. 

Crying in the back of the library where none of the Malfoys ever went, when a man stepped from the shelves in ornate robes carrying a large tome in hand and paused to stare at him with deep red eyes.

Severus forgot his despair for just a moment to stare in horror at this man who was surely a well-known lord and guest of the Malfoys. 

“Why are you crying. You look in a pitiful state.” The man’s tone was blank, holding absolutely no emotion, but still, it felt like he’d been gutted all the same.

“Because my father is evil and I can’t even kill him for what he did to me. Because I lost the one person I care about- maybe because I’m a teenage boy and _why are you staring at me as if I’m some bug under your shoe_!” His voice rose until he was almost yelling, the anger just up and spilling out of him.

Red eyes blinked slowly before a small curved smirk pulled up the lips on the man’s conventionally handsome face. “Ah. You’re the ward that Abraxas told me about. Well then, Snape, come with me.”

He didn’t move, too shocked.

“Or sit there and keep crying, I don’t care. However, I offer you the power to rise above this mess you’ve contented yourself to being… and wouldn’t your mother be proud?” The taunt was said as the man gracefully strode back towards the exit to the library, Severus scrambling to catch up with him.

His Lord was the one who taught him how to use both the ice to keep him composed and unflappable while controlling the fiery rage to be lethal in a duel.

It was before graduation that Lily Potter found her way back to him, so similar in her presence to Narcissa that they fell back into the friendship they’d had before school.

And although she disapproved of his ties to the pureblood families, she sat with him happily as they talked for hours about everything they needed to catch up on. Then with a small smile, she shyly told him that she was pregnant and that she and James Potter were getting married soon.

Severus, shoving aside his dislike for the Potter buffoon, gave her a gentle hug and a bright smile. “Do you know the gender yet?”

“A boy and a girl. Sev- I’m having twins!” Lily seemed to glow with the prospect of motherhood, then worrying at her lip in a nervous tick before speaking up softly. “Sirius Black is going to be the boy’s godfather and although James wanted to name Remus our daughter’s Godfather… he isn’t able to take the bond because-”

“I know.” Severus withheld a scowl at that memory, just furrowing his eyebrows. “So what…”

Lily smiled when he seemed to freeze, knowing he finally understood. “Severus, will you be my daughter’s Godfather?”

There was no way for him to say no.

Though… he kept it a secret from his Lord as it didn’t feel right to share that with him.

Severus slowly learned to be cordial with the four ‘marauders’ even if Potter and Black annoyed him, not to mention Pettegrew gave him this uncomfortable feeling of dislike.

It was worth it for Lily.

And then again, just like his Lord, another single person changed his life.

Helena Ivy Potter.

And while Black and Potter were busy cooing over the baby boy, he sat by Lily quietly and held her hand, holding the precious baby girl in his arms. His voice was soft and slightly strangled. “Thank you. Did you- did you tell James…”

“I thought it would be best if I acted like it was my idea.” Lily was half asleep and yet she still gave him a small smile. “I know how important she was to you.”

And while Potter and Black gave Lily the baby boy back because they had to rush off again to work, he sat by the sleeping woman, wondering over the small hand that gripped his finger tightly.

Helena.

Like Eileen Helena Prince, he’d found another reason to love again.

The prophecy and the realization that came with it, he thought, was his karmic justice- taking away everything he had because of who he chose to follow.

Just like how his Lord told him Regulus, his brother, and closest friend had died betraying the cause, he too hoped that maybe his Lord would kill him so he wouldn't have to feel this pain- this unbearable grief that never seemed to leave him.

Having spent all feast being prodded at by Minerva for the way he instinctively found himself scowling at where Charles Potter was sitting happily with all his Hufflepuff friends- _that could have been Helena if not for him-_ he was in a sour mood as he lingered in the back of the Slytherin Common Room.

Janus Carr, the current Slytherin King and Prefect was explaining something to the annoyingly small group of Slytherins (damn the war for making their house take the brunt of the hate), pausing slightly to glare at a few students snickering. “Our Head of House, Professor Snape has a few rules of his own.”

“Indeed.” Putting his thoughts on the backburner, he swept forward, starting the short message he gave every new year in a monotone voice.

_Zabini, Nott’s heir, Narcissa’s son, the Greengrass girl, and-_

_Who was-_

_It couldn't be-_

Realizing he’d frozen, staring at a girl with long black wavy hair and green gemstone eyes, he pointed at her and only half registered the other small children rushing to move out of the way. “You. What’s your name. Your _full_ name.” 

The girl- _that has the same eyes as Lily, if so much more deep and green-_ just stared at him and now he noticed they didn’t have the same spark in them Lily’s eyes did. The girl looked more like a viper ready to bite him at a moment’s notice than a girl the longer he stared at her.

Slowly, the child shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Moving forward as if unable to do anything else, peering at her and trying to see into her mind, to search for something- only seeing flashes of a woman yelling and some old man- he frowned. “What do you _mean_ ‘you do not know’?”

“Reading my mind won’t tell you anything if I’m telling the truth, Professor. I don’t know, nor do I honestly care for my birth name, but I was given the name Lena and that is what I go by.” 

He stepped back.

Lena. This wasn’t his Helena. She was-

“Or you could just call me by one of my many other titles. I’ve acquired many over the years. ‘Hellspawn’ is my personal favorite though.”

He couldn’t do anything but stare at the girl.

_Was that what his Goddaughter would look like if she-_

“Sir?”

Tearing his eyes away from her, he found himself snarling something at Carr before he went to hide away in his rooms and lick at the re-opened wounds in his heart, carefully taking out a picture he had kept of Charles and Helena when they were babies.

_When she was alive._

_Before he killed her._

Careful not to get his pathetic tears on the picture, he wondered what his Lord would say if was alive to see him now.

_Maybe he was never really built to love things that lasted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel nothing but pain that I wrote this... but y'all need to feel the pain too, so here you go  
> :} I'm so nice, I know <3


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